The Guy Next Door

by Lori Foster

  The airline was based in Denver and designed to compete with the newer, high-quality airlines. High West offered more legroom, no luggage fees and warm brownies on every flight. And Eric was this close to closing a deal to make Donovan Bothers Brewery the only beer on the menu. High West wanted something hipper than a big name brand, and Eric was determined to fill that need. It was a perfect partnership, but the owner of the airline was an arrogant pain in the ass and took pride in never being available for a meeting.

  This time, Eric had him cornered. Roland Ken dall was at the expo, and Eric was going to nail him down.

  Fifteen minutes later, he saw Henry hurrying toward the booth, and he felt his blood pressure drop a notch or two. This day could still be salvaged from the ruins, regardless of Jamie’s screwup. Henry, thankfully, had been outfitted in a brand-new Donovan Brothers polo shirt, so he looked almost like an actual bartender. He also looked closer to seventeen than twenty-one, so Eric could only pray the kid had brought his ID in case the authorities stopped by.

  “Mr. Donovan,” he panted. “Jamie said—”

  “Can you draw a beer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, keep the samples going out. Be polite. Smile. Ask for ID if anyone looks under thirty-five. And direct any questions to me. All right?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Keeping one eye on Henry to be sure he could handle the task, Eric pulled out his phone and placed a call to Roland Kendall. “Yeah?” a harsh voice answered.

  “Mr. Kendall, this is Eric Donovan. I’m hoping to take you to lunch today.”

  The man grunted in response. He was a grouch, no question about it, and he loved being the one with the upper hand. “I can’t do lunch,” he barked. “I’m getting together with a supplier.” A real supplier, he meant. Eric ground his teeth together, hard. He’d been working this bastard for six months. “Dinner then?”

  “Not tonight.”

  He tempered his voice, hoping to hide his frustration. “How about tomorrow? Mr. Kendall, you know how determined I am to secure this contract. Give me one chance to tell you what we have to offer.”

  Another grunt. Eric rolled his eyes.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” Kendall said just before the line went dead.

  Christ, this guy was killing him. The bastard clearly wanted Eric to do a little more begging. Fine. He was strong enough to handle that if it meant taking the brewery to the next level. Getting his beer into the hands of national travelers would create new demand for the product. And new demand meant new territory.

  He snapped the phone shut and rubbed his forehead.

  “Mr. Donovan?” Henry called.

  Eric took a deep breath. When he looked up, he saw that Henry was scrambling with the glasses but still keeping up. Then Henry tipped his head toward the far edge of the table, and Eric saw a familiar face and found himself smiling for real.

  “Donovan!” Andrés Villanueva called with a wave. He was the top chef in Boulder and had just opened another restaurant that the critics were going nuts for. Eric grabbed two samples and headed over.

  “Congratulations on all the buzz,” he said, handing Andrés a glass. They clicked glasses and downed the ale, and Eric felt marginally more relaxed as the bitter coolness soothed his nerves.

  “Hey, we got your new summer wheat on tap,” Andrés said. “Really nice. A little hoppier than last year’s. I like it. Give my compliments to your brewmaster.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  “We’re having a tasting dinner tonight in the Evergreen suite. Come by. Seven o’clock.”

  “I hope you’re serious, because I haven’t managed to sit down to one of your meals in months.”

  “Absolutely. Bring Jamie, too.”

  “He’s covering the bar today.”

  “Damn,” Andrés said with a grin. “I was hoping he’d bring a beautiful date I could steal out from under his nose. I swear to God, I almost succeeded with that blonde he brought in last fall.”

  Eric could only laugh, because he’d be damned if he could figure out which blonde it might’ve been. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  By the time Andrés moved on to the next booth, Eric’s mood was considerably lighter. He wanted to get out from behind the table and mix it up himself, but until his brother got the staffing mess straightened out back at the brewery, Eric was going to be stuck here. He’d better make the most of it.

  The brewery was in a unique position. Sure, they needed all the friends he could garner in the food and beverage industry in Colorado, but contacts outside the industry were important too. Donovan Brothers wasn’t a restaurant-style business. It was strictly the brewery and tasting room. So to keep their name in the public eye, they sponsored marathons and charity events. They threw parties at the finish line of bike races and worked with up-and-coming art galleries on openings. Eric had worked damn hard to saturate the Colorado market of restaurants and bars, and now it was time to expand.

  He worked the crowd until the lunchtime lull then stepped back to return a call from his glassware supplier. Halfway through the conversation, he caught sight of a woman a few booths down. She wore a straight brown skirt that stopped at a respectable length, just a millimeter below her knees, but the fabric cradled her tight ass like a glove. His words slowed to a stop.

  “Eric?” the salesman prompted.

  “Right. Sorry. Yeah, Wednesday will be fine. I’ll see you then.” He disconnected, his eyes still locked on the brunette as she laughed and shook her head at a man visiting her table. Her dark hair was pinned up in some sort of professional-looking twist, and she wore a white button-down blouse with her brown skirt. Totally conservative, yet something about her radiated sensuality. Maybe it was the small waist offset by that round little ass. Maybe it was the long neck. Or maybe it was the pair of four-inch dark green heels he glimpsed when she walked to the far end of her booth.

  Yeah. It was definitely the heels.

  Eric cleared his throat and got busy unpacking more of the souvenir glasses. He stacked them within easy reach of the tap, gathered up the used glasses people had left behind and stowed them in the empty box. Then he glanced toward the other booth again. This time, she was on the phone, looking serious now, nibbling on a fingernail while she listened. Eric watched as her lips closed over the tip of one finger before she shook her head and started talking. He knew he was only imagining the tiny glint of wetness on her nail, but he narrowed his eyes anyway.

  She probably wasn’t as sexy as he thought she was. He was just stressed. And she had a sweet face that seemed a warning against thinking dirty thoughts. He spared one more look for her curves then put his head down and finished packing. But when he stood and hoisted the box to his shoulder, his eyes swept by her again, and he realized she was watching.

  His double take was less than subtle. There was no covering it up. Her eyes slid away, but they touched on him again a second later. Her lips quirked in the briefest of smiles.

  With the box on his shoulder, Eric couldn’t just stand there staring, so he turned and walked out of the booth, his head buzzing with awareness. He couldn’t quite tell her age—somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, maybe. Old enough that she wasn’t just some pretty face hired to be a marketing bunny.

  “I’ll be back in five,” he called to Henry before heading toward the loading area. He didn’t need to walk by her booth, but on the return trip, loaded down with a box of clean glassware, Eric took the long way around, just out of curiosity. He was still fifty feet away when it became clear the woman was no longer at her station.

  He was in the middle of a mental shrug when the booth branding became visible. The stylized letters of the sign became words. The words registered in his brain and took on meaning. Eric’s mental shrug became a psychic flailing.

  Ho-ly shit.

  No wonder she oozed sensuality. The woman worked for a sex shop. Oh, the sign said “erotic boutique,” but a sex shop by any other name wa
s…

  Good God.

  His pulse sped as he walked by, trying not to stare. But that was probably conspicuous as hell. Every other red-blooded man in the vicinity was staring.

  The White Orchid. Hell, even the name was sexy-class, just like the woman. He knew of the place, of course. It was infamous and only a half mile away from the brewery. He’d never been inside, but the art deco-style building appeared completely benign, offering no hint at the naughty wares sold inside. The displays in the large windows were tasteful. High-heeled boots and cute little hats, not a sex toy to be seen. Not in the window, anyway.

  Eric’s heart pounded as if a bullet had just zipped past his ear, but as he slipped back into the comfort of his safe, unsexy booth, he wasn’t sure why. Had his pulse picked up because he’d just avoided a bullet? Or because he’d come so close to an amazing explosion?

  Whatever the reason, he kept his eyes straight ahead for the next half hour. Still, his brain spun to a blur with thoughts of what a woman like her might be like if someone got a chance to get close to her.

  “BETH,” CAIRO GROANED, “I can’t take another minute here with these people. It’s geek city.”

  Beth Cantrell nodded as if she understood, but she was occupied with staring at the hunky geek serving beer a few stalls over. She’d taken her lunch when he’d disappeared earlier, hoping she might accidentally run into him in the hall, but no such luck. She was back now though, and enjoying the show.

  “Actually, you know what?” Cairo said. “They’re not geeks. Geeks can be hot. These guys are just…dweebs. Preppy dweebs.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Beth agreed. Preppy dweebs were the horror of her friends’ existence, but they were Beth’s secret, shameful craving. A secret she’d carry to her grave. All the women in her world dated edgy guys. Men with tattoos and piercings. Men who lived alternative lifestyles that matched up perfectly with the alternative girls who worked at The White Orchid. Unfortunately, Beth’s image was a bit like a mirage in a desolate sexual desert.

  She eyed the dark-haired guy in the blue polo shirt again. She’d caught him looking a couple of times.…

  Cairo gave a long-suffering sigh. “I told you this was a stupid idea, Beth. A business convention? We don’t belong here.”

  That snapped her out of her distraction. “Excuse me? We’re a legitimate, profitable local business. How do we not belong at the business expo? I’ve already arranged a meeting with that cute little slipper company—”

  “Oh, right. The kitten heels!”

  “And I’m very interested in the tea shop. The owner says there are several tea blends that are supposed to enhance female sexual experience, and she’d love to have a feature in the store. Next winter, we could do a front table with the teas and those white-fur panties. I think we still have that Russian fur cap…” That would be spectacular, now that she thought of it. A mannequin wearing faux-fur bikini bottoms, a little bustier top and the Russian hat, standing next to a table with an array of female aphrodisiac teas. Not with the kitten-heeled slippers, though. Furry snow boots would be perfect. Maybe they could even prop a little teacup in the mannequin’s hand…

  “Cairo,” she said, “do you want to try out one of the teas?”

  “Sure, but maybe you should try it instead. When was the last time you had any action?”

  No way was Beth going to reveal that answer. “The point is not to torture anyone. I want to know if the teas really increase blood flow to the sex organs. And if they work, you have the perfect outlet—or two—to help alleviate the effects.”

  Cairo grinned, her gorgeous face brightening to nuclear levels of pretty. No wonder she had two boyfriends. Two edgy, energetic boyfriends who were happy to entertain Cairo at the same time if that was what she was in the mood for. And she usually was.

  Beth was thrilled for Cairo, and a tiny bit envious, but in all honesty, the idea of sleeping with two guys left Beth shaky with anxiety. Still, she hid her nervous thoughts behind a smile. “So will you try the tea?”

  “I absolutely will. I’ll call you as soon as I know the results.”

  “Well…take a few minutes to regain your strength first. Or a few hours.”

  Cairo winked before heading back to the table to pass out more White Orchid magnets and pinup-girl pens. Things had quieted down, but a few men in business suits still hovered nearby. Cairo was adorable with her black pixie cut and sexy ’50s outfits. Her little red wrap dress managed to look innocent even as it showed off her fantastic rack and quite a bit of thigh.

  The men looked either self-consciously amused when accepting one of the magnets, or they approached Cairo with a lascivious smile. Either way, Cairo could handle them. But Beth was more interested in the women. Women made up ninety-five percent of their clientele, just as Annabelle Mendez had planned when she’d opened The White Orchid fifteen years earlier.

  Now Annabelle was off on a “soul-cleansing world tour,” and Beth was in charge of everything. Payroll, taxes, purchasing, human resources. Everything. And it felt good. She loved her job. She loved her employees. She loved that she spent her days helping women get closer to their sexual dreams. Too bad Beth couldn’t seem to get a handle on her own fantasies.

  She glanced toward the guy in the polo shirt one more time and caught him looking again. Sparks zinged through her belly, and she smoothed a hand down the front of her fitted blouse.

  God, he was cute. Square, clean-shaven jaw. Dark brown hair cut boardroom short. When he’d picked up that box, his biceps had flexed, stretching the arm-band of his shirt as if he were in one of those exercise-machine commercials.

  He was Beth’s preppy fetish come to life. She didn’t even want to look at his ass in those khakis. It would drive her mad.

  “Focus,” she scolded herself. She wasn’t here to drool after grown-up frat boys. She was here to make connections with other female-oriented business owners.

  “I’m going to take a look at those two jewelry designers I scoped out earlier,” Beth said. “When I get back, you can take your lunch.”

  Beth grabbed her phone so she could take notes and pictures then slipped out of the booth. She knew she’d have to walk past him, but she tried not to think about it. Still, she couldn’t stop her hips from swinging a little more fiercely as she approached. She knew the moment his eyes found her. She felt his stare like a stream of light sneaking through pine trees. As she drew even with his booth, her skin warmed.

  Part of embracing your sexuality was loving your body, and Beth wasn’t modest about her ass. It was her best feature. She loved the shape of it, and this skirt loved it, too.

  So she didn’t bother lying to herself. She had no doubt he was checking out her ass, and her whole body tingled as she glanced toward the booth. Donovan Brothers Brewery, the sign read. Air rushed out of her lungs. She knew that place. It was less than a mile away from The White Orchid. She dared a second look toward the table. Jamie Donovan, proprietor, read the little cardboard stand on the table.

  When she let her eyes rise to him, their gazes met, and she felt her cheeks turn hot as she looked away. He was watching her as she moved on, she knew it, and she could barely hear the echoing noise of the place as she continued down the row of booths.

  Jamie Donovan. The name turned through her brain for a moment. She’d heard of him, hadn’t she? He was…a bartender. Of course. A notoriously flirtatious bartender who sometimes wore a kilt. Even the girls in the shop had mentioned him on occasion, so he must be something special. But maybe those were just rumors. He didn’t strike her as a playful ladies’ man. His face was serious and his eyes were cool, and he was obviously an owner of the brewery.

  But if he was a ladies’ man…

  An idea took form. A ridiculous thought that she immediately dismissed. But the idea was sticky and sweet and it stuck in her head despite her attempts to bat it away.

  She could have a fling. With him. She’d be just one fling among his many, after all. She’d mean nothing to him
, and he might be worth the risk.

  Still, he lived in her town and worked only a few minutes away from her. “Bad idea,” she murmured to herself. If her coworkers found out, she’d never live it down.

  Squaring her shoulders, Beth headed toward the first jeweler she’d noticed. But thoughts of Jamie Donovan persisted. Her brain, which was normally cool and logical, was preforming excuses in anticipation of her arguments.

  Yes, Boulder was a small town, but it wasn’t that small. They’d never run into each other before, after all. And Jamie Donovan clearly knew how to navigate these treacherous waters. She’d heard him called cute, funny, sexy and adorable. She’d also heard some serious compliments about what he had going on under his kilt. But she’d never heard him called a dog.

  A flush took her face as she honestly considered the idea of flirting with him, testing the waters. But that felt dangerous. Anytime it got beyond flirting, Beth was lost. When you worked at an erotic boutique, men expected something more. Something better. And there was nothing more or better about Beth the way there was about Cairo or Annabelle or any of the other bold women she worked with.

  Beth was just…regular.

  But if it was a fling, it wouldn’t matter if he ended up disappointed, not as it did during real dating. There’d be no awkwardness. No breakup. No painful winding down until they “decided to see other people.” It would happen and it would be done.

  And maybe, just maybe, it would be the sexual adventure she’d been waiting her whole life for.

  But surely that was a lot to pin on one poor preppy bartender. Her smile widened with amusement as she waved at the designer she’d come to hunt down. A little sexual fantasy was good for a woman’s soul. At least Beth knew her soul would be getting some great fortification tonight.

  CHAPTER TWO